


a batch made in heaven

by suituuup



Series: the baker & the chef [1]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Cooking, F/F, Flirting, Meet-Cute, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29218089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suituuup/pseuds/suituuup
Summary: Beca is a chef on one of the most prominent up and coming restaurants in Brooklyn. Chloe has been running her family’s bakery for over five years now. They spend their first date trying to teach each other their specialties.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: the baker & the chef [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184099
Comments: 72
Kudos: 278





	a batch made in heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isacabral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isacabral/gifts).



> It goes with this cute [moodboard](https://snowonebutyou.tumblr.com/post/641289843955122176/moodboard-bechloe-cooking-for-shikariix-beca) made by the talented Isa :)
> 
> Song playing at the end can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kEvJSQwkC94)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Shit.” 

You would think that after living in NYC for twenty-eight years, Chloe would know by now how unpredictable the weather can be. Yet, here she is walking in the pouring rain, her strides quickening as she tugs her coat over her head as much as she can, because she didn’t spend twenty minutes styling her hair for it to resemble a frizzy mess upon arriving to her destination. 

Luckily the restaurant is just a block away, its sign glowing in the distance. High heels hurry over the wet sidewalk, a sigh puffing past Chloe’s lips as she makes it inside the warm and dry lobby. 

“Good evening, ma’am. Welcome to _Mamie_ ,” the host greets with a polite smile and a head nod. “Do you have a reservation?” 

Chloe steps closer. “Yes. I’m meeting Aubrey Posen? She should be here by now.” 

The young man nods. “Right this way, please.” 

As she follows the waiter, Chloe lets her eyes wander. The restaurant is a blend of chic and industrial, with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings, factory windows and brick walls. Electric swing music drifts through the main room, intertwining with the hum of patrons chatting at their tables. 

She is expecting to find Aubrey around the corner, a loud gasp turning heads at the sight of all the Bellas sitting around a large table. 

“Oh my _god!_ ” Chloe cries, a hand flying up to her chest as her jaw drops in shock. “You’re all here!” 

“Happy birthday!” They call out in unison, wearing beaming smiles. 

Stacie stands up as Chloe hurries over to hug her, then goes around the table to greet each girl in the same manner. 

She shakes her head when she gets to Aubrey, embracing her tightly. “You’re something else. _Thank you._ ” 

Aubrey simply smiles. “Happy birthday, Chlo.”

Chloe shrugs off her coat and drapes it over the empty chair left between Aubrey and Stacie, sitting down. She shakes her head once more, awe painted across her features. “I can’t believe you’re all _here._ ” 

“Don’t get emotional on us already, ginger,” Amy warns, holding up a hand. “I don’t have enough alcohol in me to get through one of your creepy speeches about you being inside all of us.” 

Chloe grimaces; she’ll probably never live that one down. 

“Champagne for the table,” a waiter announces before Chloe can reply, holding a tray with flutes for everyone. “I’ll be back shortly to take your order.” 

“To Chloe’s 30’s birthday,” Aubrey says once everyone has been served, raising her glass as she looks at Chloe. “May this year be your happiest yet.” 

“And may you get laid on a regular basis,” Stacie adds, drawing an eye-roll from Aubrey. 

“Cheers!” CR exclaims, the girls echoing in unison before everyone takes a sip.

Chloe sets her drink down and opens the menu, her mouth already watering as she scans the list of options. 

If the whole setting wasn’t already a dead giveaway, the price of each dish and the fact that most of the names are French definitely confirms that this is one of the most renowned restaurants in New York City. 

Once she’s picked her three dishes (scallops, prime filet and the chocolate mousse with white coffee ice cream), Chloe reads the bit about the chef of the restaurant on the side of the first page. 

_After taking Paris by storm, internationally acclaimed chef Beca Mitchell returns home with “Mamie”. A modern nod to fine French gastronomy, Mitchell shrinks the intercontinental divide separating the City of Light and the Big Apple, proving that the true essence of fine French dining can thrive in any time zone._

Chloe finds the excerpt a little pompous, but she takes her unspoken words back as soon as she dives into the main course, the perfectly balanced flavors nearly launching her to the same plane of pleasure as an orgasm would. All the girls seem to be in equal states of bliss with their respective dishes, Stacie even commenting she would choose this lobster over sex. 

(which is saying something.)

They catch up over dinner, at least two years having gone by since they all got to be in the same place. They do have the group chat where they regularly keep in touch, but it really doesn’t compare. When the wine finally hits, they find themselves reminiscing about their college days, from the good times to the not so bright ones.

(as always, the Muff Gate takes the cake.)

“Present time!” Aubrey announces once their plates have been cleared. 

The waiter fills Chloe’s glass with more wine as Stacie hands over a bag. “Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

Inside the bag lie various gifts: a weekend at a spa in the Hamptons, a bunch of pampering products, a Yankee candle, and a couple of sex toys. 

“The best on the market,” Stacie murmurs with a wink as she leans closer.

Chloe laughs and sets the bag by her feet, eyes sparkling with appreciation as they sweep over her group of friends. “Thank you so much, guys.” 

Dessert doesn’t disappoint either, not that Chloe is surprised. The wine has definitely gone to her head by the time they’re finishing up, and her eyes pop wide at the sight of a tray of shot glasses filled with an auburn concoction being set in the center of the table. 

She glances to her left to find a brunette in a dark grey chef uniform standing by the table, her hands folded in front of her. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, exposing the tattoos on her forearms. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was told it was someone’s birthday tonight, so the digestive shots are on the house.” 

“It’s this one’s birthday,” Stacie says, motioning towards Chloe. 

“Are you chef Mitchell?” Chloe asks with interest, resting her forearm over the back of her chair as she shifts sideways in her seat to face her.

The other woman nods, smiling. “Happy birthday. I hope you all enjoyed dinner?” 

“It was _amazing_. Seriously. Even dessert, which I’m not often impressed by when eating out.” She scrunches up her nose. “Sorry, that sounded _really_ obnoxious. I’m a baker,” she clarifies quickly. “Making desserts is my livelihood, but I gotta say that your chocolate mousse is better than mine.” 

Chef Mitchell raises an eyebrow, her lips curling at the edges. “Well, taking your word for it without tasting yours myself just doesn't sound right.” 

Chloe rakes her teeth over her bottom lip as a wave of heat sweeps over her body. “I think we could arrange that,” she murmurs, then after a beat, adds, “But then again if I were to make something for you, I’d rather it be my specialty.”

“Which is?”

“Lemon meringue pie.”

Chef Mitchell hums. “I might take you up on that.”

“Sorry guys, um, do you want us to leave the room?” Amy asks in a whisper as she cups her mouth with the back of her hand, drawing chuckles from the rest of the girls. 

Redness coats Chef Mitchell’s cheeks and she bows her head, casting them all a polite smile. “Have a good rest of your evening. Thanks for coming to _Mamie._ ” 

Chloe is a bit disappointed to see the cute chef walk away, clearing her throat as she shifts back in her seat and feels all eyes on her.

“She’s _hot_ ,” Stacie comments as she plucks a shot from the tray and downs it without so much as a grimace. “Cool tattoos, too.” 

“You should leave your number, Chlo,” Jessica gushes from across the table. 

Amy nods along. “Yeah, I think human-version of Ratatouille there has a thing for you. It was like we weren’t even here.” 

_“Guys,”_ Chloe hisses, heat blooming in her cheeks as she catches a waiter walking by. “Lower your voices.”

“Are you gonna do it??” Ashley presses in a whisper, grinning wide. 

“You totally should,” Stacie says. “The baker and the chef? A batch made in heaven. I already ship it.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes as she reaches into her purse for a business card and a pen. The girls whistle and hoot (Aubrey looks thoroughly embarrassed to have brought them to such a chic restaurant) as she writes her name and personal cell down, adding a quick doodle of a cake. She leaves it with the waiter on their way out, drunkenly following the girls into a cab. 

*

The next morning shows up entirely too soon for Chloe’s liking. She pops an aspirin and downs half a liter of water, dragging her ass to the shower as she promised her employees she would be at the bakery in the afternoon to make the cake orders. 

She doesn’t remember much from last night once they reached the club and started downing shots, but does recall dinner and leaving her number for the sexy chef. There is no message from her yet, and maybe there won’t be any, but it’s fine, as Chloe really isn’t expecting anything. 

She gets to work just after two, greeting her two employees and baker upon arriving. _For Goodness Cakes_ was opened by her parents, who retired five years ago and left Chloe in charge of the business. 

“Alright, let’s see…” Chloe mumbles to herself as she ties her faithful yellow apron around the waist, scanning the list of orders taped to the wall in front of her. 

She is in the middle of making her best-selling Belgian chocolate raspberry layered cake when her employee working the counter calls her up. Her eyebrows shoot up at the sight of chef Mitchell standing on the other side, offering a wave. 

Her hair is down as opposed to the tight bun it was pulled back in last night, falling in soft waves past her shoulders.

“Hi there,” Chloe greets, rounding the counter. “What brings you all the way here?” 

The bakery is located in Queens, a little ways away from Beca’s Brooklyn establishment. 

Beca shrugs. “I have a pretty sweet tooth and thought I would check this place out, since _someone_ left a hint at the restaurant last night.” 

Chloe giggles. “Busted. But I wasn’t only hinting at my baked goods.” 

“It’s a good thing I also came by to ask you out then, if a date was the other thing you were hinting at.” 

A smirk spreads across Chloe’s features. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Well, we did mention me trying out your lemon meringue pie, and since I could use a few tips on how to make it, I was thinking you could teach me, and _I_ could teach you my specialty in turn? At my place?”

There’s something about having a renowned chef offering to cook dinner just for her that makes Chloe warm all over. 

She bites down on her bottom lip in a weak attempt to contain her smile. “Inviting me over to your place for our first date? That’s pretty bold of you.” 

Beca simply shrugs, seemingly trying to play it nonchalant, but Chloe catches the faintest of blushes coloring her cheeks. 

She finds it really endearing. 

“Deal,” Chloe says, an amused smile curving her lips. She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I should go back to work, but text me to set something up?”

Beca nods. “Will do.”

“Oh, wait!” Chloe calls out once she’s back behind her counter. She plucks a small box from a shelf and places six different cupcakes inside, taping it shut before handing it over. “For your sweet tooth. On the house.” 

Beca looks pleasantly surprised as she takes the mint green box. “Thanks, Chloe. See ya.”

Chloe waves. “See ya.” 

A text from an unknown number comes through a few hours later, just as Chloe is wrapping up after making her last order of the day. She picks it up, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as she reads the words. 

**646-668-0742 [5:34pm]**

_I think I would kill for that red velvet cupcake._

Another text pops up before she can reply. 

**646-668-0742 [5:34pm]**

_This is Beca, by the way. Which you’ve probably figured out already, unless you’ve given other suitors a box of goods made out of heaven._

A giggle flits through Chloe’s lips. She enters Beca’s number into her phone, then writes out a reply. 

**Chloe [5:36pm]**

_You were the only one today ;)_

**Beca [5:36pm]**

_Today? Damn, so I should consider myself lucky I managed to snatch a date, huh?_

**Chloe [5:36pm]**

_;) So you never told me, what IS your specialty?_

**Beca [5:37pm]**

_You’ll find out soon enough. How is Monday night? That is unfortunately the only day of the week the restaurant is closed._

**Chloe [5:37pm]**

_See you on Monday night, then :)_

Sunday is always the busiest day of the week at the bakery, and Chloe ends up pulling a twelve-hour-shift, sleeping in until eleven the following morning. It might be her day off, but since she’s the boss and the end of the month is nearing, she spends her early afternoon dealing with her employees’ hour sheets so she can pay them promptly on the 1st. 

She heads to the address Beca gave her around five-thirty, stopping at her favorite local shop to buy what she needs for her lemon meringue pie. Dressed in an off-the-shoulder beige sweater and blue jeans, a daim jacket and brown ankle boots, Chloe trudges up the stairs to the third floor and presses the bell. 

The door opens a handful of seconds later, Beca standing on the other side. Her hair is up in a loose bun, and she’s wearing a plaid shirt over a black camisole with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, paired with dark skinny jeans. Her make-up is a tad heavier than the times Chloe previously saw her, and Chloe thinks it suits her, as it brings her eyes out a bit more.

“Hi there,” she murmurs with a soft smile, tugging the door open wider. “Come on in.” 

Chloe smiles back and steps inside, her eyes quickly scanning her surroundings. Beca’s apartment seems to be one big room, probably part of an old factory with appearing tubes and vents, brick, concrete walls and high windows which let plenty of light in. It is tastefully decorated, sobre and refined with pops of color here and there.

The kitchen is bright and spacious, with plenty of counter space and all the appliances a chef would need. The living area is located on the other side of the room, and Chloe makes note of the piano tucked in the corner, wondering if Beca plays or if it’s just part of the decor. A spiral staircase appears to lead to the bedroom up on a landing above the living-room.

Chill music is playing from the record player sitting on the full wall bookshelf of records opposite the couch.

“Cool place,” she compliments, walking over to the kitchen island and setting her shopping basket down. “Can I put some stuff in the fridge?”

“Thanks. I spend too much time at the restaurant to fully enjoy it, unfortunately. And yeah, of course.” 

Chloe chuckles as she opens the fridge door, setting her already made pie crust inside. “Tell me about it. I feel like I’ve been living at the bakery for the last five years.” 

“Is that when you opened it?” Beca asks as she moves to one of the cupboards, pulling out two wine glasses. “Red or white wine? I also have beer, or maybe something non-alcoholic?” 

“Red wine, please,” Chloe answers as she unpacks her ingredients one by one. “And no, my parents opened it when I was a kid. It’s been around for over twenty years.”

“That’s cool,” Beca muses as she expertly uncorks a wine bottle and pours some of it in the glasses. Chloe likes the sound it makes on its way out of the bottle. 

“When did you open your restaurant?” Chloe asks, taking the offered glass with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Two years ago.”

“After taking Paris my storm?” Chloe can’t help but tease. 

Beca groans. “Ugh. I didn’t want to add that on the menu. My business partner Jesse insisted I had to sell myself, or whatever.” She grimaces. “I veto’d the photo to go with it.” 

“Was it something like this?” Chloe asks as she crosses her arms over her chest and shifts to stand sideways, her head turned to her left to look at Beca as she musters her best empowered woman expression. “That’s what they do on Top Chef.” 

Beca shakes her head, snickering. “You’re a dork.” 

Shrugging, Chloe raises her glass, cradling it with the stem resting between her fingers as she takes a sip. The warm, rich liquid coats her tongue with a strong, pleasant grape flavor and heats her stomach as it goes down. There's no biting aftertaste like with the cheap wine she used to get drunk on in college. “So. We should probably start with dessert first, right? Then we can make your thing while it bakes?” 

Beca nods firmly. “Let’s get down to business. Did you bring everything we need?” 

“Ingredient wise, yes. We do need a few bowls, a whisk, a scale, a medium-sized pan, and a lemon squeezer,” Chloe says as she drags her basket closer. She reaches inside it for her trusty apron and puts it on, then throws her hair up in a loose ponytail as Beca sets the utensils down on the counter. “Have you made lemon meringue pie before?” 

“A few times. But I could never find the right sweetness balance. Desserts are definitely my weakness, which is why I believe you were just sweet-talking me up with that mousse comment.” 

Chloe’s jaw drops. “I wasn’t! It was genuinely good.” 

Beca hums like she doesn’t totally believe her. 

“I think you have what it bakes to master the lemon meringue pie,” Chloe states, lips quirking and eyes just on the edge of winking. 

Beca shakes her head, but she seems to be fighting off another smile. “So you’re one of those people, huh?” 

Chloe cocks an eyebrow. “Are you really surprised, given the name of my bakery?” 

“Good point,” Beca admits with a snicker. 

Chloe chuckles and starts plucking the ingredients from the basket one by one. “This type of pie is tricky. I worked on this recipe for a long time, making at least a dozen of them before I got the right balance. Both my kitchen and my head were exploding lemons by that point,” she says, laughing softly. “Whenever I had friends or family stop by, I’d force lemon meringue pie on them and beg them to be honest with me.” 

“That sounds like me when I was trying to work out the restaurant menu.” Beca takes a sip from her wine, then clears her throat. “Alright, what’s my first task?” 

Chloe slides the box of eggs over, and picks up her glass of wine once more to take a sip. “Separate five yolks from the whites. We’ll use the yolks for the filling and the whites for the meringue.” 

Beca nods, opening the box and plucking one egg from it. “Have you always wanted to be a baker or was it a following in your parents’ footsteps sort of thing?” 

Chloe cuts a lemon in half and squeezes it to get the juice. “I always wanted to be a baker. But my parents insisted I go to college to have an education in case I changed my mind. So I took business and administration, which was the best decision of my life with all of the paperwork that comes with running your own shop.” 

Beca groans. “My least favorite part of the job. Were those your friends from college at the restaurant?” 

“You can whisk the yolks now, then set them aside for later,” Chloe instructs softly while she continues her task. “And yeah. We were all part of an acapella group.” 

That makes Beca pause as she looks up. “You sing?” 

“Yep.” She tips her head towards the piano. “Do you play?” 

Beca nods. “Yeah. Again, I don’t have enough time to do it as much as I’d like to. And nice try diverting from you being an acapella nerd.” She smirks. “Did you guys compete?” 

“We did. We never won Nationals, but it was good fun.” 

“What kind of songs did you sing?” 

“I plead the 5th,” Chloe mumbles with a grimace. 

Beca snickers. “That lame, huh?” 

Rolling her eyes, Chloe bumps her shoulder against Beca’s in wordless reprimand. “Alright, now we need 1 and 1/3 cups of water, 1 cup of granulated sugar, 1/3 cup of cornstarch and 1/4 teaspoon of salt.” 

“Diverting again,” Beca drawls out with a suspicious squint, then gives her a mock-salute when she catches Chloe’s playful glare. “Right away, ma’am.” 

Once Chloe has squeezed all the juice, she adds it to the concoction made by Beca, then pours the mix in the pan Beca has previously set on the stove, turning the heat up to medium. 

“Alright, that needs to cook for six minutes, then we’ll add the yolks in. Let’s get a start on the meringue in the meantime.” She catches Beca’s lingering look and cocks an eyebrow. “What?” 

Beca licks her lips. “Nothing. It’s just… kinda sexy when you get all bossy.” 

Chloe’s cheeks heat up as she tilts her head to the side. “Thanks, I think?” 

“Definitely a compliment,” Beca clears up. She smirks. “So, the meringue?” 

“Yes,” Chloe confirms, shaking her head to get it back in the game. “That one’s pretty simple. The whites need to be whisked until soft peaks form, then add the salt and sugar, which I’ll measure while you do that.” 

“Got it.” 

They’re silent while the mixer is on, and Chloe goes to check on the mixture, showing Beca how she slowly streams the yolks into it while stirring. “Then you remove the pan from the heat and whisk in the butter. Can you do that while I get the crust from the fridge?” 

Beca nods and takes over, joining Chloe back in front of their working station for the next step. 

“Some flour,” Chloe says, reaching into the open bag she set out earlier, and dusting the surface with it. A few tendrils having escaped from her loose ponytail fall in front of her eyes, and she reaches out to tuck them back behind her ears, unbeknowingly smearing some flour on her cheek bone. “And then we roll this bad boy out. Do you have a nine-inch pie dish?” 

“Yep, should find that somewhere.” 

Chloe quietly sings along to the song playing (Florence + The Machine’s _Cosmic Love_ ) as she rolls the pie crust into a circle. She pauses when she catches Beca staring at her with an odd look in her eye. “Do I have something on my face?” 

Beca chuckles. “As a matter of fact, you do,” she says, reaching out to gently wipe the pad of her thumb over Chloe’s cheek. The simple touch makes Chloe swallow as warmth spreads in her belly, and she licks her lips, catching Beca’s eyes when they dip. “Flour,” Beca indicates as she pulls her hand away and rubs her thumb against the side of her pointer finger to dust it off. “But that’s not why I was staring,” she adds, looking a bit sheepish. “Your voice is pretty amazing. I sorta got hooked for a second there. Sorry if that was creepy.” 

“Oh,” Chloe lets out, realizing just now she had been singing. She often does that when she bakes and never really pays it any attention anymore. “Thank you.” 

Beca simply smiles, and reaches for the wine bottle. “Refill?” 

“Sure, thanks.” 

The pie goes in the oven a minute later, and Chloe grins as she shuts the door, straightening. “Your turn, chef Mitchell. What are we making?” 

Beca chuckles, pushing off the counter and padding towards her pantry. “We’re making… a filet mignon in mushroom wine sauce, with a potato purée and oven-roasted carrots and asparagus.”

“Sounds amazing,” Chloe says, humming softly. “So if it’s your specialty, how come it’s not on your menu?” 

Beca reappears with several paper bags containing potatoes, carrots, asparagus and mushrooms, setting them on the island. “It was my grandma’s favorite dish and it’s pretty special to me, so I don’t want to cook it for random people.” She grabs a cutting board, an onion and a knife, setting them in front of Chloe. “Your first task is to cut this in dice,” she instructs softly before stepping back in front of her own station, picking a carrot from the bag.

Chloe smiles as she peels the onion, pushing the skin off the cutting board with the side of her hand. “Was your grandma a big influence on your cooking?” 

“Yeah. _Mamie_ actually means grandma in French. She was still little when she and her parents left France during the war and came to the States, but her mom would make French dishes all the time,” Beca pauses to take a sip from her wine. “I grew up to my grandma’s cooking and she taught me in turn.”

“I love that,” Chloe muses aloud, her eyes meeting Beca’s briefly before she focuses back on her task. 

“I didn’t think about becoming a cook until I was nineteen,” Beca explains as she reaches for another carrot. “I was in my first year of college when she died, and I decided to up and leave and head to France. Started as a dishwasher in Paris, then assistant chef in a small restaurant. I met this chef a year and a half in and he taught me everything my grandma didn’t. Worked under him for five years, then decided to come back to New York and start my own thing. When Jesse asked me what I wanted to name our restaurant, it was pretty much a no-brainer.” 

“That’s an amazing way to honor her,” Chloe murmurs. She transfers the onion bits into the empty bowl by her side, setting the cutting board back down. “What’s next, chef Mitchell?” 

A chuckle puffs past Beca’s lips. “Chopping the garlic. Three cloves, please.” 

“On it.” She grabs the garlic head and slightly raises her knife, pointing it towards Beca in a warning kind of way. “Don’t make fun of how slow I am with chopping.” 

Beca makes a zipping motion over her lips with her thumb and pointer finger. “Are you from New York?” 

“Not really. I was born in Oregon, but we moved here when I was two,” Chloe says as she plucks her glass from the surface and takes another sip. “Okay, where is this from? Because it’s _delicious_.” 

“My wine guy is located in Bordeaux. I’ll get you a case on my next order, if you’d like.” 

“Yes, please,” Chloe agrees without hesitating, drinking a bit more. “Wow, okay, I almost drained my second glass already,” she observes with a grimace, laughing softly. “Better slow down or I’ll soon be the worst assistant chef you’ve ever worked with.” 

Beca laughs and steps towards the stove, pulling out a cast iron cooking pot from one of the drawers underneath and setting it on the largest burner. She grabs a knife next and cuts a large chunk of butter from the plate lying next to the stove. “Don’t tell my clients this, but I cook next to everything with butter. Not super healthy, but a lot tastier.” 

Chloe chuckles. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“So I’m gonna let the onions and garlic simmer with some herbs. I like to cook with rosemary, parsley and oregano,” Beca says as she stirs slowly, then adds a bit of water. “These herbs add complexity and a balanced flavor to the steak. We’ll add mushrooms in a bit.” 

“I can cut them,” Chloe volunteers. “Thick or thin?” 

“Thick does the trick. We’ll let them cook for a bit, then use the same pot for the meat later,” Beca explains as she grabs a different knife and sets out to chop the carrots with incredible speed and deftness. Chloe has barely finished with the mushrooms that Beca is already moving on to the asparagus, snapping off the woody root ends. “I’ll pop these in the oven while you finish cutting those.” 

“What was living in Paris like?” Chloe asks as she scoops the mushrooms into the pan and gives it a stir. 

Beca picks up her glass and swirls the liquid around for a bit, staring down at the waves it forms along the edges of the glass. “A lot like New York in many ways. Very rich when it comes to art and live entertainment, but also dirty, crazy expensive and chaotic. Especially when you don’t know much of the language.” She scrunches up her nose. “I only dabbled with what my grandma taught me, so the first few months were pretty rough when it came to communicating.”

“I can imagine,” Chloe sympathies with a matching grimace. “You must be fluent now, though?” 

“Yeah.” 

Chloe smirks. “Can you say something in French?” 

Beca’s eyes lock with Chloe’s as she takes a sip from her wine, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Je brûle d’envie de t’embrasser.” 

Chloe clears her throat, blinking. There’s something about Beca speaking French that is unbelievably sexy. “What does that mean?” 

“I plead the fifth,” Beca murmurs, smirking behind the rim of her glass as she lifts it to her mouth. 

Chloe pouts a little, batting her eyelashes. “Come _oooon_ , tell me.” 

“Jesus. Your eyes are dangerous weapons, anybody ever told you that?” Beca questions with a soft laugh as she reaches for the olive oil and pours some on the vegetables, then sprinkles salt and pepper on top. “I’ll think about it.” 

Chloe grins mischievously. “So, what’s next?” 

Beca opens the oven and slides the baking tray underneath the pie. “Boiling potatoes to make the purée.”

“Should I peel them?” 

“No,” Beca answers as she grabs a large pot and fills it with faucet water. “Potatoes with skin on will absorb less water while being boiled, and that preserves the starch.” 

Chloe hums as she grabs the paper bag. “How many do you need?” 

“About ten should be enough.” 

Chloe drops that amount in the water once Beca has set the pot on the stove, setting the bag aside and glancing at Beca expectantly for the next step. 

“These are cooked enough for now,” Beca observes as she stirs the mushrooms. “We’ll set them aside and wait for the veggies and potatoes to be ready before cooking the steaks and making the wine sauce. How’s the pie looking?” 

Chloe bends at the waist to take a peek through the oven window. “Needs five more minutes or so.” She grabs her glass of wine from the island, leaning her hip against the counter as she looks at Beca. “Next time I’ll show you how to make those red velvet cupcakes you seemed to like so much.” 

Beca raises an eyebrow, a smirk curving her lips as she gazes at Chloe. “Next time, huh? Who’s the bold one now?” 

Chloe smirks right back, staring at Beca through her eyelashes as she takes a sip. 

“I like the sound of that,” Beca decides, her expression softening as she holds onto Chloe’s gaze for a few beats longer before taking the pan off the heat and transferring the mushrooms into one of the empty bowls sitting on the island. She moves to the fridge next and gets the steaks out, setting the plate down on the counter. “I’ll season these with salt and pepper and then let them cook for about 4 to 5 minutes.” 

Chloe nods. “I’ll take the pie out. Do you have oven mitts?” 

“Drawer underneath it.” 

Once equipped, Chloe takes out the pie and sets it down on the countertop, its sweet flavor filling the space between them. The tips of the meringue are golden-brown, just the way they should be. “Alright. Now we need to let it cool for about four hours.” 

“Four hours?” Beca echoes, a glint in her eye as she glances at Chloe. “I wonder what we could do to kill time until then.” 

Her words send a chill up Chloe’s spine, and she feels her cheeks heat up slightly, but hopes it’s not too terrible that Beca can see it. 

“I think we can come up with a few ideas,” she says once she has somewhat recovered from her derailing thoughts. 

Two sets of blue eyes meet and skitter away before meeting each other again. 

“You’re trouble, Chloe Beale.” 

Chloe barks out a laugh, eyes bright and smile large. “ _Please._ You’re the one who hinted at it.” She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, keeping her eyes on Beca for a stretch. “I’m gonna head to the restroom.” 

Beca nods, clearing her throat. “That door over there.” 

“Thanks.” 

When she comes back, Beca is straining the potato water. “You alright?” She asks softly. 

“Yep. Couldn’t be batter.” 

Beca groans, tilting her head back. “Why did I ask?” 

A giggle flits past Chloe’s lips. “I promise I’ll try to behave from now on.” She makes a cross sign over her chest, unable to keep from grinning. “Crust my heart.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Beca mutters as she shakes her head. “Here, make yourself useful and peel those potatoes.” 

Chloe chuckles and gets to work while Beca retrieves some things from the fridge and snatches a potato masher from her pot of kitchen utensils by the stove. 

“One tablespoon of butter, one of cream, a table spoon of salt and one of pepper and mash it all together,” Beca instructs as she sets the ingredients by Chloe. “I’ll get a start on the steaks in the meantime.” 

“That’s an impressive collection of records you got there,” Chloe comments as she adds the cream. 

The sound of sizzling muffles the song playing a bit as Beca lies the steaks down in the hot pan. 

“Yeah… music has always been my thing, along with cooking.” 

“That’s the first thing I noticed when I walked into your restaurant, you know,” Chloe says as she works on mashing those potatoes. “The music playing. I liked it.” 

“Oh yeah?” Beca looks over her shoulder, smiling. “I’m glad to hear that. Some of my meals out were ruined because of the music that was either too crappy, or playing too loud.” 

“I think we may have ruined some of your other clients’ dinner the other night. Amy doesn’t know how to talk at a normal volume and Stacie kept making sex jokes. Aubrey was embarrassed by all of us, I think.” 

“Was Aubrey the uptight blonde sitting next to you who looked at my tattoos with distaste?” 

Chloe snorts. “My best friend, yeah.” 

“Uh oh, that’s _who_ I’ve got to impress?” 

A bunch of butterflies start marching around in Chloe’s belly at that; she can’t deny that she definitely wants this. It’s only a first date, she’s aware. But their chemistry is off the charts, they have a lot in common and they just seem to… get each other. 

And they haven’t even kissed yet. She doesn’t know what it is, but Chloe has this inkling Beca is great at that, too. 

“I’m all done here,” she announces a little bit later, wiping her hands on her apron. “Do you have a lid to keep it warm?” 

“Yep,” Beca bends down and retrieves one from a drawer. “Here you go. Ready to make the sauce?” 

Chloe nods and crosses the small distance between them to stand by her side in front of the stove. Beca has set the steaks aside on a plate and pours some wine into the pan from the measuring cup next to her. 

“So when you cook meat and vegetables in a hot pan, little bits of it stick to the bottom. It’s what they call _fond_ in classical French cooking because they’re the foundation of a great pan sauce,” Beca explains as she gently scrapes the bottom with her spatula. “Deglazing the pan afterwards is an easy way to infuse those flavor nuggets into your finished dish.” 

Chloe listens intently; she’s pretty sure she could hear Beca talk about cooking all day long without tiring of it. 

Beca catches her staring, and the tips of her ears pinken under Chloe’s focus. “What?” 

“You make cooking sound very sensual,” Chloe murmurs with a soft smile.

That flush spreads to Beca’s cheeks as she grabs another measuring jug filled with a brown liquid. 

“Vegetable broth,” she indicates as she adds it in. “Can you grab me the cream?” Chloe does so, handing it over. “½ of a cup, and bring it to a boil. Oh there’s no more music,” Beca notes, glancing at Chloe. “Wanna pick another record?” 

Chloe smiles and nods, pushing off the counter. “Sure.” 

She spends a couple of minutes browsing through some of Beca’s selection, eventually settling on Chet Faker’s _Built On Glass_. 

“Nice taste,” Beca muses when Chloe returns by her side, casting her a small smile. “Okay, this is done. Here, it shouldn’t be too hot.” 

She grabs a table spoon and scoops some of the thick sauce, holding it out above her palm for Chloe to try. 

Chloe closes her lips around it and pulls away, a moan surfacing from her throat and her eyes fluttering shut as the most wonderful flavor makes her taste buds sing. “Oh my god. This is incredible.” 

Beca chuckles, lowering the spoon. “Yeah?” She clears her throat. “So before you serve a sauce, you should always add a little bit of butter. We call that _moneter au beurre_. It amps up the flavor.” 

“Okay, you have to stop speaking French,” Chloe requests with a short laugh. “My brain can’t function.” 

Beca smirks. “You still wanna know what I was saying earlier?” 

Chloe gives a faint nod, her voice dying in her throat as she watches Beca’s eyes flicker down to her lips once more. Only this time, she knows she’s going to be kissed. There is no doubt about it as Beca leans in slowly, her hand curling around Chloe’s hip as she brushes a barely there kiss to Chloe’s mouth, then pulls away just a bit, leaving Chloe on a high for more. 

Chloe’s hand drifts up to rest on the side of her neck as Beca pushes forward again, capturing Chloe’s lips fully this time and infusing the perfect balance of passion and softness into that next kiss.

They part in a sweet pull half-a-minute later, Chloe’s eyes remaining shut a few beats longer while she gathers her bearings. 

Beca is smiling when she finally opens them, and she brushes a kiss to the corner of Chloe’s mouth. “I’ll go grab some plates.” 

Chloe nods, rubbing her lips together as she wills her body to chill out. She pushes off the counter once she’s sure her knees are steady and watches as Beca starts to plate their meal, an expression of ultimate concentration etched in her features as she delicately places each component a certain way. 

“This is always the part I’m stressed about,” Beca says as she lays the steak down next to the potato purée. “Food gets cold quickly so you don’t want to spend too much time plating it, but you also want everything to look perfect and not rushed.” 

Beca grabs the tray out of the oven and adds a handful of asparagus and carrots, then the mushrooms and sauce, wiping a drop from the edge of the plate with the dish towel draped across her shoulder. 

“Voila,” she announces, looking up with a satisfied smile. “Food is served.” 

“Thank you,” Chloe murmurs, running the tips of her fingers over Beca’s lower back as she rounds the island to perch herself on a stool. 

Dinner is as expected, delicious. They fall back into talking about nothing and everything between bites and sips of wine, sharing childhood stories and embarrassing moments while trading bashful smiles and featherlight touches. 

Beca puts on a more upbeat record afterward, and they belt it out to ABBA’s greatest hits while doing the dishes, before stumbling to the couch into a make-out session that soon has them dash upstairs for the rest. 

(Chloe wonders, as she lies there on the brink of a powerful orgasm, if Beca is amazing at everything she undertakes.)

(not that she is complaining.)

(not one bit.)

“Where you goin’?” Beca asks, a whiny edge to her tone as Chloe slips out from under the sheets sometime later. 

Chloe snatches Beca’s plaid shirt from the floor and shrugs it on, doing up a few buttons. She runs her fingers through her sex-tousled hair. “Pie should be ready. I don’t know about you, but I definitely worked up an appetite.” 

She hears Beca chuckle as she heads down the spiral staircase, her footsteps following shortly after, just as Chloe is pulling out a couple plates. 

Beca pads over, clad in panties and a t-shirt, and slides up behind Chloe, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She then opens the drawer next to them and pulls out a cake slice, handing it over. 

“Oh my god,” Beca mumbles around her first bite. She chews and swallows, helping herself to another forkful. “This is amazing. Dating you might be a bad idea. I’m gonna end up having diabetes.” 

Chloe giggles. “I’m glad you like it.” 

Three slices of pie inhaled later (one each and one shared), Chloe heads to Beca’s record collection and picks Leon Bridges’ _Coming Home_. She aligns the stylus with the edge of the vinyl disc, soulful harmonies soon filling the room. 

“Come here,” she requests, holding out her hand towards Beca. 

Beca raises an eyebrow but wordlessly obliges. “What are we doing?” She asks, wounding her arms around Chloe’s waist as Chloe drapes hers across Beca’s shoulders. Her eyes read curious amusement. 

“Slow-dancing,” Chloe murmurs as she starts to sway to the lyrics. 

_Baby, baby, baby_

_I'm coming home_

_To your tender sweet loving_

Beca hums as a lazy smile spreads on her lips, and she tightens her hold around Chloe’s waist, her forehead coming to gently rest over Chloe’s. 

As they sway together barefeet and sans-pants in the middle of Beca’s living room at two am, Chloe thinks this might, indeed, be her happiest year yet. 


End file.
